


Coffee Break

by DeansDirtyLittleSecret



Series: Professor Dean Winchester AU [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Professor Dean Winchester, Smut, Ugly Plaid Couch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 13:39:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4831094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeansDirtyLittleSecret/pseuds/DeansDirtyLittleSecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A crappy night for Professor Winchester prompts the reader to take him some coffee. She encourages him to take a break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee Break

You glanced over at the clock on your bedside table. It was nearly ten and Dean still hadn’t called. When you’d spoken to him earlier that afternoon, he had assured you that he would be done early and he would call you once he was home. You were both anxious to see each other; you hadn’t seen him since Friday afternoon - you’d been working and he’d been holed up in the library working on the research paper he was presenting at the conference. It was now late Sunday night and you were sitting in your dorm room alone.

You had pretty much given up hope of seeing Professor Winchester when your phone rang, his number popping up on the screen. You nearly dropped it scrambling to answer it.

“Hi,” you answered, hopefully nonchalantly.

“Garth is an idiot,” Dean grumbled. Garth was his new teaching assistant, replacing you after the university president had insisted you step down.

“Yeah?” you smiled. “What did he do?”

“Well, he lost some of my research, a bunch of the stuff you did when you were my assistant,” he sighed. “And he lost my goddamn outline, the entire basis of my paper, the one thing holding everything together, what I’m using to write the final paper. Poof, gone, vanished. Luckily I’ve read the damn thing so many times I think I have it memorized. But I need to recreate it, make sure it lines up with the work I’ve done so far. Then I need to see if I recover some of the research he lost.”

“Is Garth helping you?” you asked.

“No,” Dean snapped. You heard him take a deep breath. “Sorry. I sent him home, I couldn’t stand him hovering over me, apologizing every thirty seconds. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to cancel tonight. I have to stay here and try to get this taken care of. I can’t lose even a day or I’ll get behind.”

You were going to protest, maybe whine a little, but you could hear the distress in Dean’s voice, though he was trying to hide it. Now wasn’t the time. “Okay, I understand,” you said, desperately trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

“I really am sorry,” he said quietly. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” you answered. You dropped your phone to the bed beside you with a sigh. Your eye caught the stack of notebooks on the bookshelf, a thin layer of dust covering them. You’d nearly forgotten about them, but seeing them gave you an idea.

You didn’t even bother to change out of your yoga pants and ratty t-shirt, just grabbed the notebooks and shoved them in your backpack, slipped on your shoes and jacket and hurried downstairs. The student union was open until eleven, so you stopped in and bought two large coffees, then you made your way across campus.

The History building was dark, the halls dimly lit by single bulbs. Dean hadn’t taken your key when you stepped down as his teaching assistant, hadn’t even cared that you had it when you mentioned it to him a couple of weeks ago, so you were able to let yourself in the side door. You could hear Led Zeppelin echoing through the hallways as you approached Dean’s classroom, bringing a smile to your face. The classroom was dark, but soft light spilled from the office door, as did the music.

You stopped just outside his office door, content to watch him for a minute or two. He was sitting at his desk, wearing your favorite red plaid shirt and one of his older, more faded pair of jeans. He kept scratching absentmindedly at his beard. You knew that he’d been thinking about shaving it off, an idea you weren’t completely on board with; you’d definitely miss it if it was gone, for completely selfish reasons. When he finally looked your way, catching you staring, his lip curled up in one of those adorable smirks you loved so much. You blushed, which made him laugh.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” he asked as he pushed himself away from his desk. He turned the volume on the stereo down a couple of notches, gesturing for you to join him.

You held out one of the cups of coffee. “I thought you might need a break,” you said.

“You’re the best,” he smiled. “Come here.” He took the coffee in one hand and wrapped his arm around your waist with the other, holding you against his side.

You smiled up at him, stretching your neck to kiss him. He returned the kiss, sucking gently at your bottom lip. It was an easy, soft kiss. You sighed and leaned into him, letting him hold you.

“I’ve really missed you,” you whispered. “I hate never being able to see you.”

“I know,” Dean said. “I really am sorry about canceling.”

You shook your head. “It’s not just that. Since I had to transfer out of your class, it’s like we live on different planets. Our jobs, school, the whole “don’t tell anybody you’re dating your professor,” blah, blah, blah, blah. I just want to hide in your house for a week, just the two of us, alone, no interruptions. Is that stupid? Childish?”

“No,” Dean laughed. “I wish the same thing sometimes. But then reality punches me in the face and I remember that I’m an adult and I have responsibilities.” He kissed the tip of your nose. “We just have to work our way through it. Because you know what I believe? Someday, everything we’ve had to deal with, everything we’ve had to go through? It will all be worth it.”

“Promise?” you asked.

“Yeah, I promise,” he murmured. He pulled you close and nuzzled your neck, kissing the line of your throat.

You sighed, tipped your head back and let him kiss you, sighing as his lips roamed over your neck.

“Coffee break, huh?” he chuckled.

“Hmm, I think I just said ‘break,’ not coffee break,” you laughed. “But first, I have something for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean smirked, one eyebrow raised.

You punched him on the arm, set your coffee on his desk and opened your backpack. You pulled out the dusty notebooks and held them out to him. “Here, I thought you might want these.”

Dean put his coffee next to yours and took the notebooks from you. He flipped through them, his smile widening with each turn of a page. “Are these...are these your notes from when you were my assistant?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“I never got rid of them,” you shrugged. “They were just sitting on my bookshelf. Can you use them?”

“Hell yes,” he grinned. “This is a lot of the stuff Garth lost.”

“Thank God,” you smiled. “I was hoping they would help.”

He dropped the notebooks to the desk and pulled you into his arms. “Thank you,” he murmured, before catching your lips with his and kissing you. It started out as a sweet, tender kiss to thank you for what you’d done, but then it changed, became something deeper, something more, a declaration of unspoken wants and needs.

Dean pulled you with him, walking backwards across the room. He pushed the door closed and threw the lock as you passed it, then his hands were back on you, roaming over your body, your waist, your back, his hands in your hair, holding your head as he kissed you, his tongue probing your mouth, exploring and tasting you.

You sighed as the two of you fell to the couch, limbs tangled around each other, kissing, touching, feeling. Dean laid you out beneath him, his knee between your legs, his other foot braced against the floor.

“I never realized...your shirt...matches...the couch,” you gasped between kisses, frantically unbuttoning the red plaid shirt.

“Leave my ugly couch alone,” he muttered as he shoved down your yoga pants, his lips against your neck, leaving tiny bites everywhere his mouth touched. “I like it.”

His fingers brushed over you, caressing you, making you giddy with desire. He put his hand under you and lifted you, drawing you closer to him, his knee now pressed between your thighs. You moaned, pushing yourself down onto his leg, desperate for some kind of friction.

“I...like it...too,” you gasped as your shirt and bra came off. Dean’s mouth closed around your breast and he sucked your nipple into your mouth, cutting off the words coming from your mouth. You couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t focus on anything but what Dean and his mouth were doing to you. Your back arched, your fingers tangled in his hair and you pulled him closer, pushing off his shirt, smiling in relief as your skin met his, as the warmth of his body touched you.

Dean moved so he was completely over you, pulling your legs around his waist. He pushed his hips into yours, the hard line of his cock rubbing deliciously against you. You put your fingers in the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him into you, grinding against him. You gasped as he rocked into you and you felt the familiar tightening in the pit of your stomach, a slow burn that felt amazing.

Dean was kissing you everywhere, your jaw, your neck, the hollow of your throat, your shoulders, his lips just skimming over your skin, his breath hot, sending prickles of heat charging through you. He ran his hand up your thigh and under you, lifting you and tugging you tight against him, rutting against you.

“Dean,” you murmured, digging your fingers into his back. “Jesus, honey, stop teasing…”

He laughed as he pulled away, his green eyes sparkling with either lust or amusement, you weren’t sure which. He sat next to where you were sprawled over the couch, one hand on you, the other loosening the laces of his boots. He kicked them off, then rose to his feet, his hand going to his waist to remove his jeans. You stopped him, your hand over his as you rose to your knees on the couch and slowly unbuttoned his pants. He hissed as you slid the zipper down and deliberately brushed your fingers over his hard shaft. You pulled his jeans and boxer briefs down, suddenly impatient to touch him, to take him in your mouth and taste him.

He groaned as your hand closed around his cock and your tongue danced over the tip, slow licks meant to drive him crazy. You cupped his balls, caressing them gently as you pulled him into your mouth just an inch at a time, his substantial size making it impossible to take him all. Frustrated, wanting _more_ of him, you released him and sat back, one hand still stroking his cock, urging him to follow you. He leaned over you, one hand on either side of your head, propped up on the back of the ugly plaid couch. You held him at the base of his cock as you wrapped your other arm around his back, encouraging him to push into your mouth.

“Y/N?” he whispered, shaking his head minutely. “You don’t -”

“I want to,” you interrupted him. “God, please, I want to.” You wrapped your lips around him and slid them down the shaft, moaning as you tasted him against your tongue.

“Jesus, baby,” Dean groaned as he pushed into the wet heat of your mouth, the tip of his cock just brushing the back of your throat. He braced himself over you, one knee on the couch beside you, his hands on the back of it, every muscle tensing as you greedily sucked him off.

His hips jerked in response to your ministrations, his cock practically pulsing as you slid him in and out of your mouth, your fingers digging into his ass, urging him to move, swallowing every inch of him.

“Y/N,” he growled, the warning clear in his voice, though you didn’t need it, not after all this time. You knew him better than you knew yourself, knew when he was close, knew when he was going to come. You didn’t stop, you just sucked harder, your cheeks hollowing as you drew him in. He growled your name again and tangled his fingers in your hair, holding it gently as he fucked your mouth.

You felt the familiar tightening in his balls, the twitch in his cock and then he was pushing you away and dragging you to your feet and turning you around, bending you over the back of the couch and pushing into you, filling you in one hard thrust. His arms slid around your waist, holding you against him, his fingers easily and quickly finding your clit, rubbing it as he slammed into you from behind.

You braced yourself against the ugly plaid couch, pushing back into him, chasing your own orgasm, surrounded by everything that was Dean. White heat rolled through you, expanding and pulsing until it exploded through you.

Dean grunted as he thrust into you, his hips barely moving, fingers dancing across your clit, your walls clenching around him, until he was coming, your name falling from his lips. He leaned over you, his chest pressed against your back as he lowered you to the couch. He cuddled you against his side as he placed gentle kisses all over the back of your neck and shoulders.

“Don’t you have work to do Professor Winchester?” you murmured after a few minutes.

“I’m taking a break,” he chuckled. He sat up, grabbed his jeans and pulled them on. He tossed his shirt to you and you slid it on, buttoning it quickly. He crossed the room and picked up his coffee, grimacing as he sipped it. “And drinking my cold coffee.”

You laughed and pushed yourself to your feet. You wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him, tucking yourself under his arm. “Sorry. So much for your coffee break,” you said.

Dean pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Mmm, that break was way better than any coffee break could ever be,” he replied. “Why don’t you help me reorganize the stuff Garth screwed up? After all, you know the research as well as I do.”

“Can we take a couple more breaks?” you asked innocently. “You know, if we need to?”

“Definitely,” he whispered. He caressed you, his hands settling on your waist. “Just say the word.” He caught your lips in a soft kiss, pulling you close. “I’ll be happy to oblige.”

“Promise, Professor Winchester?” you smiled.

He laughed. “If you keep calling me that, you won’t even have to ask.”

And he was right, you didn’t have to ask. Not even once.

 


End file.
